By Alpha Amadu Jalloh
The Silence You Demand Is the Voice of Our Resistance
Mr. President, we are still talking, even though it seems you would rather we be silent. But silence is no longer an option, not when our democracy is on life support and the presidency is no longer a service but a shield, one used to deflect accountability, suppress opposition, and erase the dreams of a people desperate for change.
You may ignore us, Mr. President, but we will not ignore what you are doing to Sierra Leone. We see it all. The signs are no longer subtle. They are as bold as the red carpet you parade upon on your international escapades while the nation bleeds. You may try to wrap your actions in patriotic language, calling it “national security,” “state stability,” or “post-war recovery,” but we can strip the euphemisms away. What you are doing, sir, is undermining the people’s voice.
What frightens us most, Mr. President, is that you now govern through fear, not fear of criminals or rebels, but fear of democracy itself. The people are watching your strategy. You have created an atmosphere where even those within your own ruling SLPP fear to breathe the word “succession.” You have turned potential flag bearers into fugitives inside their own party. Those who wish to serve, to lead, are treated not as partners in development but as enemies of your reign. One question hangs heavy: Why, Mr. President, are you so obsessed with control if your leadership has truly been transformative?
Because if your work speaks for itself, then why silence everyone else?
Democracy thrives on competition, on debate, and on new ideas. But in your Sierra Leone, new ideas are a threat, dissent is treason, and opposition is war. Every voice not echoing your praises is either sidelined, smeared, or surveilled. You have choked the political space with your ambition, and now you seek to write a new chapter in power through the oldest trick in the authoritarian playbook: manufactured emergency.
You want the people to believe that the country is on the brink so you can invoke Article 49(2) and cling to power under the pretense of national crisis. You call it duty. We call it deception.
The Constitution is clear. The presidency is a time-bound service, not a throne. But instead of preparing for a peaceful transition, you prepare the nation for manufactured tension. Instead of building future leaders, you muzzle them. Instead of fortifying democracy, you are rewriting the script, using the power of incumbency to script a political drama where the only hero is you.
Let us not pretend anymore, Mr. President. The people are not naive. They see the sudden crackdown on freedom of speech. They see the Information Minister fumbling through press briefings, testing the waters of public opinion like a man trying to sell fire as rain.
They see how the SLPP, once a people’s movement, has been reduced to a theatre of obedience. They see how regional allies like Mamady Doumbouya of Guinea flirt with constitutional manipulation and how you nod in subtle agreement, emboldened by each other’s autocratic ambitions. You both hide behind uniforms and podiums, trying to convince the world that your grip on power is for the people. But the people are no longer buying it.
A war proclamation, Mr. President, may give you two more years in office—but it will also give you a legacy tainted by betrayal. The question is no longer whether you will step down; the question is what you are willing to destroy just to avoid it. How far will you go, Mr. President? Will you dissolve Parliament? Will you rewrite the constitution by executive decree? Will you jail your comrades who speak too loudly about the future?
This is not governance. This is paranoia parading as policy.
And even now, when the people call for dialogue, when they write letters and speak through columns like this one, your response is silence, or worse, retaliation. But you must understand: the more you silence us, the louder we become. Because when freedom is taken, resistance is born.
You can gag your ministers. You can sack your appointees. You can exile your critics. But you cannot imprison a nation’s hope. That hope still lives in our students, even as they study by candlelight. It lives in our market women, even as they suffer under taxes. It lives in our civil servants, tired but not defeated. It lives in our journalists, harassed but still courageous.
And that hope will outlive your fear.
Sierra Leone is bigger than you, Mr. President. Bigger than any political party, any constitutional loophole, any fabricated war. And that is why we will keep talking. Not because we want to overthrow you, but because we want to remind you of the truth: power is not the destination; it is a means to serve. When it becomes a tool to suppress, it ceases to be legitimate.
You may think you can outsmart the Constitution, outmaneuver Parliament, and outspend your opponents, but you cannot outrun the truth. And the truth is this: Sierra Leone deserves better. Not just better leadership, but better ethics, better vision, and better courage.
And if you still believe in your legacy, Mr. President, then let go when the time comes. Step down not as a man defeated, but as a statesman who respected the limits of his office.
The silence you demand is the voice of our resistance.
Let’s talk about the price of your silence, Mr. President. You may have survived one election and now seek to manufacture another term, but at what cost? We have watched the toll your leadership has taken on Sierra Leone, not just in terms of the economy or infrastructure but in the very fabric of our society. You speak often of progress, but it seems that your idea of progress is based more on what’s convenient for you than what’s best for the nation.
Your trips abroad and your lavish international engagements speak volumes. But they are not the success stories you claim them to be. They only serve to highlight your detachment from the realities faced by ordinary Sierra Leoneans. We are tired of seeing your face on global stages, while back home, critical issues remain unresolved. From the rising cost of living to the crumbling healthcare system, the gap between your words and actions widens daily.
And what about the education sector, Mr. President? Your promises to revamp the system ring hollow when our students continue to struggle in overcrowded classrooms with inadequate resources. The future of Sierra Leone lies in the hands of these students, yet you continue to squander their potential. You have been president long enough to change this, but instead, you have chosen to preserve your hold on power.
Meanwhile, the infrastructure you promised remains under construction, if it exists at all. Roads, hospitals, and schools, the building blocks of a prosperous society, are left unfinished while your political ambitions take center stage. What message does this send to the people of Sierra Leone? That their needs are secondary to your personal desires?
Let us also talk about corruption, Mr. President. We are not blind to the state of governance under your watch. While you tout your anti-corruption efforts, the reality on the ground paints a different picture. Corruption is thriving, not just in the streets but within your own administration. Government contracts, international deals, and public funds are being siphoned off at alarming rates. We see ministers living lavishly, even as the majority of Sierra Leoneans live in poverty. Your government’s failure to address these issues is the true scandal of your presidency.
Perhaps most concerning of all, Mr. President, is your treatment of the opposition. You have consistently undermined the voices of those who dare to challenge you. Instead of fostering a democratic environment where differing opinions can coexist, you have sought to silence your critics. Journalists who report on your failures face harassment, opposition members are harangued and intimidated, and the public is denied the basic right to free expression. You call this leadership? This is tyranny, plain and simple.
But even in the face of your efforts to suppress us, we continue to speak out. We will not be silenced by fear or intimidation. Your attempts to manipulate the Constitution, to erase dissent, and to rewrite the rules of governance will not succeed. Because the people of Sierra Leone are not fools. We know that true power lies not in controlling the masses but in serving them. And as long as you refuse to listen to the people, your power will continue to slip away, no matter how hard you try to hold on to it.
We do not want a Sierra Leone where one man, one family, or one party dominates the political landscape. We want a nation where democracy is upheld, where every citizen has a voice, and where leadership is about serving the people, not enriching oneself. We want a Sierra Leone where the Constitution is respected, where the rule of law prevails, and where the government works for the benefit of all, not just the few.
The silence you demand is the voice of our resistance, Mr. President. And as long as you ignore the cries of the people, our voices will only grow louder.
So, Mr. President, we ask once again: Can we still talk?
